


Don't Forget to Remember

by farad



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to "Waiting on the Lord", thus making it a pre-script to the postscript for "Vendetta"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Forget to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> For Phoenix - her award for getting the second Bingo!
> 
> This is the conversation that gets us to the events of "Waiting on the Lord".
> 
> ETA: Special thanks to Van for some proofreading! All mistakes my own.

"You all right?"

Buck rolled his head on his pillow, turning to face the door to his room. He knew that voice – had known who it was when he heard the familiar stride coming down the hall, long before the doorknob was turned and the slight breeze announced someone standing in his doorway. He blinked, opening his eyes to find Chris standing in the doorway, his hat off and resting in the center of his back. He'd lost his poncho somewhere along the way, but it took Buck a while to work that out. The brown-stripped shirt he wore was mottled with stains of many colors, many of them in hues of crimson and brown.

"I'll live," he answered, but he had to clear his throat to make the words clear. "Just a flesh wound – hurts like a son of a bitch, but it ain't gonna kill me." And it did hurt like a son of a bitch, especially now that things had calmed down and he was trying to rest.

"Nathan said you lost a lot of blood," Chris said, shifting to lean against the door frame. The new position put his face in the lamplight and Buck saw the deep lines around his eyes and lips. They aged him.

"Not as much as some," he answered, and even though he tried to keep his voice light, the truth in the words, in the memory of standing on that boardwalk after the shooting had stopped, carried sadness. "You all right?" he asked as Chris' face seemed to tighten even more.

He wasn't surprised by the short answer. "I ain't bleeding – which is more than I can say for you, Josiah, and JD."

"Other ways to hurt," Buck countered, recalling Chris' hand on Hank's face, the gentleness as he had closed Hank's eyes.

"Two of the Nichols boys are dead," Chris said. "As soon as the rest are able to ride, they're heading back to Kansas City." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were telling Buck the news.

But Buck knew Chris too well, maybe better than Chris knew himself. Especially when it came to guilt. "We didn't know he was – well, not in his right mind. And even if we had, would you still have been able to turn him over to her, knowing what she wanted to do to him?"

Chris looked away, toward the window. He couldn't see out, as the curtains were drawn against the late afternoon sun, but that didn't keep him from trying. "Should have. Should never have come back for him – hell, if they'd gotten to him then, none of you would be hurt. None of them would be dead."

Buck gave himself a few seconds to think before he answered. It wasn't anger, because he wasn't angry, not really. He was frustrated, though, tired of having this same argument with Chris. It had different words over the years, but the issue was still the same: responsibility to family.

'Why a man won't help his own kin?' The words floated around in Buck's head for a while.

"I dreamed about her last night," he said softly. "Her and Adam. Saw her face, clear as day. Reckon you were right – it ain't time to forget."

Chris jerked, his head snapping around to look at Buck. His eyes were wide, large and haunted against the paleness of his skin. Then he shook his head once, as if clearing it of something, and looked away, back toward the window. He swallowed, shook his head again, then lifted one hand to swipe at this forehead. His voice was low and grating, worse than Vin's, when he finally spoke. "I dreamed about her, too, saw her face like you did, clear as day. Heard her – heard her voice." He stopped, catching a breath as he ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair.

Buck pushed himself up, grunting as the bullet wound in his shoulder pulled, the burn sharp and deep. A little more than a flesh wound, but there was no need to worry on that now. It was done and he was alive. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling a little light-headed.

After a time, Chris spoke again, his voice still rough but more even. "She's taking her dead back to Kansas City. Want to bury them with David. I . . . Undertaker wants to know where I want to bury Hank. I . . . "

Buck nodded, looking up at Chris. "Sarah would want it, Chris," he said simply, and for the first time in a while, he heard her voice in his head, too.

Chris swallowed again, but eventually, he nodded. "Yeah, she would. I'll take him over in a couple of days. When the coffin's ready."

"I'll go with you."

"You don't have to - " Chris stopped, though, his voice catching.

"Yeah, I know," Buck agreed, watching as Chris rubbed at his face again. "You going to wait until she and her boys leave?"

Chris braced his hand on the door frame and leaned his forehead against it. His words were muffled and forced. "Her boys are angry – maybe they have a right to be, but I don't want to leave them to cause more trouble. We've had more than enough from this mess."

Buck nodded, agreeing with the reasoning even though he suspected there was more to it. "She over at the church?"

Chris shifted, his shoulders rising slightly in something like a shrug. "Don't know. Josiah's at Nathan's, helping as much as he can. Idiot."

Buck smiled. "Because he's helping care for the Nichols boys or because he's staying so close to Nathan?"

Most of Chris' face was still hidden but Buck saw the flicker as his lips twitched. "Both," he answered. "Helping as much as Nathan will let him, more like." His head rolled slightly so that Buck could see one red-rimmed eye.

"Think we should go down and help clean up the saloon?" Buck asked, getting to his feet. "Reckon Ezra's telling everyone what to do, so trouble might start up pretty soon." He stepped into his boots then turned to pick up his shirt, wincing again as the wound burned.

He concentrated on dressing, giving Chris time to get himself together. By the time he had knotted his bandana and buckled on his gunbelt, Chris was standing at the water bowl, using a towel to dry his face. His hair was wet now and pushed back off his face, the way it had been when Hank Connelly had appeared in the saloon, turning Chris' world upside down. Chris still looked tired, but he wasn't hiding now.

"You up to it?" he asked, laying the towel aside and turning to meet Buck's eyes. "Vin and I can handle it – he's over there already working on it."

"'Course he is," Buck agreed, picking up his hat. "And as soon as I find myself a pretty lady to offer me comfort, I'll leave you two studs to it, don't you worry none."

He wasn't surprised but he was relieved when Chris rolled his eyes. But as Chris stepped away from the basin and headed toward the open door, Buck saw the frown that passed over his face. He hesitated, knowing that once they walked out the door, Chris wouldn't say whatever was on his mind. "I do want to go, Chris."

Chris nodded and stopped just inside the door, turning back. He met Buck's eyes, holding his gaze for a few seconds before saying, "How crazy do you think he was?"

Buck laughed, answering before he thought. "Crazy enough to shoot David Nichols and at least one other man - " He caught himself as Chris looked away, his brow creasing in deep lines. Then it hit him and he wondered if he'd ever learn to think before he talked. "He meant what he said, though." He took a slow step closer to Chris, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "While Nathan was doctoring me up, he told me he'd met a few people like Hank. He said they have spells where they forget things. It ain't all the time. He was in his right mind more than out of it."

Chris was looking at the drawn curtains again but he didn't pull away from Buck's hand. "I wanted him to mean what he said, about Sarah, about – about - "

"He did, Chris. She was his little girl." He drew a breath, thinking through the rest of it before he spoke. "And he wanted to make his peace with you, too. I think he knew he was sick – why else was he so worried about forgetting?"

Chris sighed, but after a time, he nodded. "Reckon you're right."

Buck grinned, appreciating the words. They weren't words Chris used often. "'Course I am," he said, playfully. "And just for that, you can buy the first beer."

Chris looked at him, but he, too slowly grinned. "Maybe the Nichols boys will be stupid enough to try something. I could stand to throw a punch or two, and they sure as hell deserve that much."

"That, they do," Buck agreed, slapping Chris shoulder as Chris started away. "Ain't much more fun in life than drinkin' and fightin'."

Chris snorted, but as he walked out the door, his steps seemed lighter.


End file.
